


As A Rule

by eschatologies



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 12:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2228427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eschatologies/pseuds/eschatologies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a rule, when Jim came bursting into his office without bothering to knock or announce himself before entering, McCoy would refuse to acknowledge the Captain’s presence. On principle, dammit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As A Rule

**Author's Note:**

> X-posted from livejournal - originally posted 2010.

As a rule, when Jim came bursting into his office without bothering to knock or announce himself before entering, McCoy would refuse to acknowledge the Captain’s presence. On principle, dammit.

If Jim was going to ignore standard etiquette (not to mention official Starship procedure with regards to CO private quarters) and insist on overriding McCoy’s lock, then he would just have to wait until McCoy was quite finished with whatever he was doing, thank you.

So when Jim clamored inside the doctor’s office late Tuesday evening, just after supervising the last shore party returning to the Enterprise for the night, McCoy casually scrolled to the next page of the medical report he was reading on a large, illuminated PADD and added another scribbled note to a paper on his right, as if nothing were amiss. 

“Bones, Bones, Bones,” Jim said, shaking his head in mock disbelief, coming to stand directly opposite where McCoy was working. When McCoy offered no response or any indication he had even noticed Jim’s entrance, Jim continued forward on his own. “I heard from Ensign Rocker, who heard from some lads in engineering, who heard it firsthand from Nurse Fitzgerald that _you_ -” he sang out, accentuating the last word in an accusatory tone. McCoy didn’t have to look up to know there was a smirk plastered on Jim’s smug face. With a swift motion, he clanked a bottle of whiskey on McCoy’s desk, apparently materializing the booze out of thin air. “- might need some of _this_.”

McCoy regarded the bottle with a scowl. “Jim, I’m busy here,” he grumbled, gesturing to the pile of PADDs teetering on his desk. “I treated forty-two men in the last four hours, all showing symptoms of enjoying shore leave just a bit too much: split knuckles, lacerations, STI’s, and two cases of alcohol poisoning. And now I have the pleasure of filling out paperwork for these delinquents you call ‘fit for service’ on a starship, not to mention the reports I’m still filing from last week. Whoever authorized a week’s shore leave on Earth must have an unhealthy vendetta against my sanity.”

“I’m confident Starfleet Command considered your sanity a high priority when they ordered us home after Lison XI. The plague outbreak…we all deserve a break, my medical staff most of all.” 

McCoy huffed in agreement, but continued to futz with his PADD. 

“Bones,” Jim said again, softer than before, and McCoy tried not to squirm under the hard stare of his Captain.

“Nurse Fitzgerald should not have been commenting about-” McCoy began, but was cut short.

“Come on, Bones! Did you really think berating a group of Ensigns in sickbay this morning and reducing one man to tears was going to slip past my radar? Especially with the amount of agents I have strategically placed aboard this ship?” He smiled easily. “And don’t put this all on Nurse Fitzgerald; stronger women than her have fallen victim to the allure of Scotty’s distilled brew. It loosens the tongue, in a manner of speaking.”

Jim pushes, and McCoy gives. That's just how they are, and they both knew it, so there was really no need to delay the inevitable. McCoy flipped his stylus onto the desk, defeated, and leaned back heavily in his chair, eyes closed. One large hand came up to rub his forehead and then rest pinching the bridge of his nose. McCoy sighed and Jim waited.

“Tears?” McCoy finally asked, opening one eye.

“Crocodile tears,” Jim confirmed soberly. The Captain dragged a chair from the corner of the room and sank into it, thumping his boots onto McCoy’s desk as he regarded the doctor. “Something is going on here, and if I were to hazard a guess, I’d bet the bridge it has to do with the communication you received from your ex two days ago.”

“Off the desk,” McCoy responded automatically, slapping at Jim’s feet. “And since when do you monitor my incoming communications?”

Jim extracted his legs and leaned forward, elbows on knees, finger tapping his nose in a knowing way. “Agents, Bones. I have _agents_ at work. Now, come on. I’ll pour you a drink, you’ll supply the conversation, and we’ll get to the bottom of how your bedside manner regressed from cantankerous at best to downright belligerent.”

McCoy snorted and raised an eyebrow. After a minute of staring back into Jim’s expectant face, McCoy sighed. To demonstrate his total capitulation, he extracted two tumblers from the bottom drawer of his desk. Jim unscrewed the bottle and filled each glass with a couple fingers of the amber liquid. He passed one to the doctor and then settled back into his chair, cradling his own glass to his chest.

As a rule, McCoy rarely declined proffered alcohol, especially not real, Terran whiskey. Jim must have picked it up while planet-side that afternoon. It was thoughtful and understated, just like Jim. The Captain had developed a knack for steering him toward the things that McCoy has, and not to letting him dwell on the things he doesn't while simultaneously bribing him with alcohol.

During the past year aboard the Enterprise, McCoy had unknowingly constructed a replacement family; he’d taped spare parts from Engineering and the Bridge together with some medical supplies and a little bit of booze. They’re everything a family should be, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss the ones he left on Earth. With each sip, the clenched fist around his heart began to loosen, and the pressure in his head relaxed. Yes, Jocelyn had managed to take Jo off-planet to visit her great Aunt Matilda on Thyron II (“Leonard, you know we _never_ see her anymore, and she won’t live forever,”) during the exact week he was scheduled for shore leave. And yes, it would be months, maybe a year, before he’d be given the chance to hug his baby girl again. And yes, McCoy hadn’t even realized he’d been talking, letting loose a week’s worth of anxiety and annoyance, until Jim interrupted him.

“Thyron II, you said?” Jim asked, suddenly. “Isn’t there a mining outpost there? And a trading barge?”

“Her husband, my grandfather’s youngest brother, used to work the loading platforms. After he died, she didn’t see a reason to leave. It’s only a few hours flight,” McCoy replied, nodding.

“I’ve been advised to take on provisions before taking our next heading. Don’t see why we can’t see what the commerce on Thyron II has to offer.” The Captain smiled, his eyes dancing. “I’m sure there will be plenty of time for you to inspect the local medical facilities, or whatever business a Chief Medical Officer feels the need to conduct in the colony while we refit the ship.”

Before McCoy could protest, Jim leaned forward and punched a few buttons on the communications panel on McCoy’s desk. “Kirk to Bridge.”

“Sulu here, Captain,” came the immediate reply. 

“Excellent. Mr. Sulu, plot a course to Thyron II, on heading 342.6. We will be departing Earth’s orbit at 0900 tomorrow, as planned. Kirk out.” He continued to smirk at McCoy. He set his empty glass on the desk and stood to leave. “You’ll probably want to let your ex know you’ll be arriving tomorrow afternoon. Shore leave, Bones. Captain’s orders.”


End file.
